


Love Languages (And the Art of Miscommunication)

by sodapopmermaid



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dramatic Irony, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, We're going to build it all up before we see it crumble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-16 23:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodapopmermaid/pseuds/sodapopmermaid
Summary: Bren's love language is gift-giving.  Astrid's love language is 'fuck you, I love you.'  Eodwulf is just here to laugh at them both.





	Love Languages (And the Art of Miscommunication)

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, self indulgence. The true core of fanfic, really.
> 
> Don't let Wulf trick you into thinking he's the responsible one. He's definitely got popcorn for this whole thing.

Astrid is pretty sure she hates this Bren kid.

She continues glaring at the back of his skull while packs up his books and notes. He continues not to notice.

The problem, really, is that he has freckles. He has freckles, and a big nose, and blue eyes, and the only things he’s capable of talking about are cats and schoolwork. And if Astrid doesn’t kiss him soon, she’s going to _die._

She wishes they hadn’t needed to cut their hair so short for the uniform. Long hair didn’t suit her tastes, either, but at least it kept her from looking so… stern. She looks sharper, like this. She doesn’t want him to think she’s too sharp.

Bren turns around, and she swallows her panic, trying to fix her expression into something that isn’t straight murder. He doesn’t seem to notice, though that may be due to the fact that he’s refusing to look at her. Again.

“You didn’t take notes.” He holds out a small stack of papers (his own notes, she assumes; though it could have been pages from a book, with that penmanship), as if to prove his point. It feels like an accusation; was he paying that much attention? Her ears burn.

“...Yes?” Staring at him probably isn’t going to make him look at her any more than it did during class. She stares anyway. He keeps holding the papers out.

“You can use mine. I’ll remember it anyway.”

Something clicks into place, finally, and Astrid wants to throw herself out the window. The burning spreads from her ears to her cheeks, and she nearly drops the papers in her haste to take them. “Uh, yes. Yes. Thank you.” Fuck.

Bren looks up for a moment, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in an approximation of a smile, and hurries to leave.

_Fuck._

* * *

“I was useless!”

“Probably.”

_“You’re not helpful!”_ Astrid kicks her legs out at Eodwulf, knowing full well that it won’t do anything. As expected, his shit-eating grin only grows. Once she figures out how he managed to become friends with Bren so quickly, he’s dead. “He didn’t even want to look at me!”

“Yeah, he’s a little awkward. Probably just nervous.”

Astrid groans and turns over, still sprawled across the couch and her boyfriend, to bury her face into a pillow. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened.”

“Mmm.” 

“Ever.”

“Have you tried… not glaring?”

“I don’t glare!” Astrid turns her head to-- _stare intensely_ at him. The stupid grin grows again. Great, now she has to kiss him.

Once she’s kissed the _smugness_ off his face (she tells herself, despite him looking cockier than ever), she settles in his lap with the notes. They flip through them idly, together, remarking on penmanship and sigils and commentary in the margins. Very little studying is involved.

“We could _date_ him, though,” Astrid whines, eventually, spreading her hands over Wulf’s to compare sizes and calluses. He catches them and threads his fingers with hers. She hums. “I know he’s into _you._ At least.”

Wulf hums back, more thoughtfully. “You’re probably just misunderstanding his signals. Give him something back.” He reaches their right hands to tap at the abandoned stack of papers. “For the notes. Bring him coffee or something.”

Astrid considers this, and its potential. And then she thinks about actually doing it, talking to Bren, the _feelings_ that would invoke, and whines. Wulf shakes them both with his laughter, and if their hands weren’t still intertwined, she would smack him.

* * *

“Ermendrud.” He looks up at her like he’s surprised to see her there. Astrid can already feel the heat creeping back in on the back of her neck. In the middle of the library, too, because that’s the only place to see him outside of class, they live in the same damn dorm but he’s never there, why--

“Ah, hallo.” It’s in Common. Her lips twitch. He’s so _cute._

“Listen,” She continues, in Zemnian, because the language isn’t theirs, but the accent is. He frowns at her like he’s puzzling something out. She tries not to take it personally. “I… appreciated. The notes.” She thrusts them forward with the book on top, because she doesn’t know how else she’s going to get through this. He takes them slowly, gingerly. Perplexed. She can’t blame him. “So did Wulf. I got you a book about kinds of familiars. He said you were trying to get a cat into the dorms? It’s a little above our paygrade, yet, and I’m still not sure they would let you get away with it, but….” She pauses, waits for him to agree. Or disagree. Or do anything. Bren looks through the book with a furrowed brow.

“Ah, thank you-- this is very helpful.” When he looks up, his face is much more open; his eyes are wrinkled at the corners again, his mouth upturned just so. Astrid sucks in a breath. _Fuck._ “Did you want to sit down?”

**Author's Note:**

> Astrid: I'm giving to give this boy who literally only ever hangs out in the library the gift of a book he could probably find at said library. Nothing could possibly go wrong with this plan.


End file.
